


Stick it to 'Em

by brotherfuckers



Series: Striderclan [59]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blow Jobs, Incest, M/M, Protective Striders, Sibling Incest, Stridercest - Freeform, Tattoos, alpha stridercest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brotherfuckers/pseuds/brotherfuckers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bro is feeling mushy an Dirk gives him an idea that sorta rolls out of control, which leads them to a tattoo parlor that they visit without letting Dave or D know what's going on, which causes for an interesting reaction when they get home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stick it to 'Em

Bro rubs his thumb absently over the surface of the silver pocket watch. He can feel the quality of the craftsmanship put into the metal. He loves how the light hugs the smooth curves and tiny details. His heart thrums as he thinks about each of the symbols and how they relate to his brothers.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

"Really? Lasts longer than metal?"

"Semantics," Dirk shrugs it off.

"I know ya think digital is permanent since that's all ya know, ya Google baby."

"You want permanence? Get a fucking tattoo. That permanent enough for you?"

"Only if you assume I'll be around forever," Bro answers absently, almost automatically.

"You are too stubborn to fucking keel over."

"Genius..." Bro types quickly on his computer with intense purpose.

"What? I mean I am one but-"

"You're an effin' genius. I want a tattoo of it."

"Wow. You aren't going any where near a Walmart. Talk about impulse buying. We'd be broke in five minutes flat."

Bro sounds around on his rolling chair. "What would you get, Dirk?"

"An ironic mom tattoo."

"God damn. Stop giving me good ideas. But seriously..."

"I dunno. I've seen some cool biomechanical ones that speak to me."

"If I find an artist..."

"You buying?"

"Sure."

* * *

It takes Bro and Dirk two months (and a dozen interviews) before they find someone suitable to ink their skin. It takes another month of visits to finalize designs. But when they do, they look gorgeous.

Bro has the crest planned for the spot over his heart. It will be an outline of the design on the pocket watch. The shield decorated with his signature hat and crowned with a marionette cross bar is center with two katanas crossing in front. Two movie reels frame around it instead of olive branches. The ribbon across the bottom has ‘STRIDER’ in an angular font cut out of it. Bro is proud to wear it and would have done it across his entire back if he hadn’t been concerned about issues with scaling.

Dirk has decided to go with on on his upper arm which resembles a tear through his skin (with excess peeled back and hanging), but in addition to exposed muscle there is a silver mechanical contraption with all of the wires and connections running under his skin except for one that curls up out of the apparent wound. Where Bro’s will just be black outlines, Dirk wants full color so when they go in to get them actually done, he is paired up with the senior expert tattoo artist, a woman with her own biomechanical designs covering her skin.

As the dual session starts, with Bro bare chested in his seat and Dirk in a thin tank top next to him, the atmosphere is amicable. Bro has deemed them intelligent enough not to raise his ire and skilled enough that even his paranoia and need to do it himself (only way to guarantee to do it right in his mind) are quiet. He actually even recognizes some of his released Puppetfreak mixes on the stereo system pumping music through.

The process of marking the skin with ink actually goes by quickly with conversation flowing between the four of them with topics ranging from the weirdest/best tattoos to theoretical socio-political structures of cultures on the moon to best lunch places around town.

Bro is actually surprised when his artist declares himself done. Bro looks down and only sees a patch of red angry flesh and black lines crisscrossing it. He reaches up to pull at his skin trying to get a better angle on his chest when his artist slaps his hand away and holds up a mirror instead.

“The letters are backw- I’m dumb.”

Dirk tries to hold himself still through the laughter as Bro examines the fine detail work of the crest now permanently engraved above his heart. It looks gorgeous and will look even better after it heals. When he is done admiring himself, the artist slaps a pad of gauze over it and tapes it down. Bro shrugs into his shirt while being given a care spiel before they rejoin Dirk and his artist’s conversation. She’s talking about pudding and the taste of chocolate. It only takes Bro a beat to catch up as she continues to work on Dirk’s intricate coloring.

The red from the background of the tear takes a while because the ink blends in with the blood that is drawn to the surface. She has to wipe it away more often than she did with the outline which irritates the skin even further. Bro tries not to snicker when Dirk whinces.

About an hour later Dirk is getting that same spiel and his own white bandage that contrasts sharply with his black shirt. They pay and wave goodbye, though Dirk has to drag Bro out the last couple of steps where a “MOM” tattoo design up on the board catches his attention. They drive by a fast food restaurant and pick up a sack of hamburgers and fries before heading home.

* * *

The smell of greasy goodness practically summons the other two Striders when Bro and Dirk walk through the door. Dave goes immediately for his own proffered bag from Dirk’s outstretched arm but D stops in his tracks when the white square on Dirk’s shoulder catches his attention.

“What’s that? Why are you bandaged? How did you get hurt? Bro, what did you do to him? What did you let happen to Dirk? Eighteen years and we’ve been doing well with only that one incident with Dave and you go and let it happen again? Without telling me? Did you have to go pick him up? Where did you go pick him up? Are the bodies still there?”

Bro has a hard time holding back his laughter at the insanely protective barrage of questions he and Dirk are facing. Dave’s eyebrows are tucked up under his bangs as he slowly munches on a fry, somewhat interested in the answers. Dirk is just slowly turning red in embarrassment as D grabs him and starts checking him for other injuries.

“Lay off the kid. He ain’t hurt. Just got a tattoo.”

“WHAT?” D screeches.

“Oh like ya don’t have shiny bits now.”

“That’s different. Those aren’t fucking permanent. Those aren’t fucking INK in your SKIN.”

“No, just a couple holes.”

“Which are very hideable! This is on your fucking shoulder! In fucking plain view! Mom’s going to see it! Mom is going to kill me! And you, Bro! And probably you too, Dirk. Dave will be only one unscathed,” D wails, lamenting his shortened future.

“Whatever. Bet she’s got ink of her own.”

Bro gets a quick cuff to the back of his head. Dirk snickers and then gets one himself. Dave, now satisfied with the explanation, goes back to his room with his treasured food.

“So what does it look like?” D demands. Bro sees his opportunity and slinks off to follow Dave.

“You’ll see it when I heal.”

“No, I want to see it now.”

“No. It has to heal.”

“Now.”

“No.”

D lifts the remaining food out of Dirk’s arms and sets it on the counter and then goes after his brother who took the chance to escape past him. “I said now!” he grabs Dirk by the waist and is tugged forward a couple steps.

“And I said no!”

“I’m your guardian!”

“I’m eighteen!”

“This is my house!”

“This is totally Bro’s.”

“Asshole!” D manages to wedge him against the couch and starts using the advantage of position and height to get at the bandage.

Dirk tries to fight him off but can’t keep D’s arms pinned properly for any length of time. “Agh! You spidermonkey! Why are your limbs so long? Ack!”

Dirk is tipped over the back of the futon but only gets half way with how D has trapped him. Which puts his crotch in a relatively prime position. Dirk struggles against gravity to try to sit up as D flicks open his jeans and tugs them down with his briefs. D leans over, still keeping Dirk trapped in an arch and ignoring the swats to his head, and captures Dirk’s soft dick with his lips. It doesn’t stay soft for long, not with how D is slurping and slobbering all over it. It slips down D’s throat easily and Dirk feels like he’s falling apart when D  presses it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue.*

“Shit shit shit! Goddamn D! Ah! Yes!” Dirk stops struggling against D and instead tries to support himself better to keep his cock in that wet heat of D’s mouth. His legs wrap helpfully around the back of D’s, anchoring them together. He works that to his advantage, lifting his hips up for D to suck on. D’s lips slide along the shaft, tugging lightly at the smooth velvety skin. He takes it deep into his throat and holds it for a second while Dirk moans before slowly sliding up to just the tip where he swirls his tongue around the head.

“Fuck! Going to make me come, D!”

D pulls off with a very lewd sound that makes Dirk moan and grip the futon covers. “I’ll let you come if you show me your tattoo.”

“Fine. Yes. Sure. Please! Fuck just put your fucking mouth on my dick!”

D obeys and swallows him swiftly to the root. Dirk lets out a noise that rivals D in volume as he spasms through his orgasm. D keeps sucking on him until he collapses down against the cushion and starts pulling at D’s hair with a whine.

“Alright, let’s see the damage,” D says when he finally lets Dirk up. Dirk flips the rest of the way over the futon and straightens himself out. With an exaggerated show, Dirk pulls his bandage down to show off the biomechanical tear in his skin. D almost pokes it but Dirk pulls away in time.

“Let it heal first and then you can grope the artwork as much as you want.”

“I can’t believe Bro let you get this.”

“I am eighteen.”

“I still can’t believe Bro took you to get one.”

“Bro got one too.”

* * *

Bro’s made himself at home on Dave’s bed, munching away at the rest of his lunch. Dave’s sitting at his desk doing the same. They are both ignoring the sounds of struggle and argument outside in the main room until those sounds turn to moans. They snicker at each other as they recognize what has changed. They roll their eyes at Dirk’s lines.

Then Bro hears, “Bro got one too.”

His eyes narrow and glare murder towards the other room. Dave eyes Bro up and down with a raised eyebrow. Bro takes notice of him.

“Shut up, ya li’l twink. I didn’t get it on my dick or ass or anything, ya sick little twerp.”

“Damn. You would look good with a tramp stamp, Bro.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now I gotta get outta here.” Bro makes it to the window just as the bedroom door flies open. D catches only the glimpse of his foot as Bro leaps for the fire escape.

**Author's Note:**

> For more information please check out our work at striderclan.tumblr.com; we have more stories, head canons, art/pictures.


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